


Icarus

by corastilinski (isaaclahey)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaaclahey/pseuds/corastilinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In battle, there are casualties. Losses for both sides fighting the war. The worst wound to sustain is an emotional one. Doctors can't perform surgery. Only a person who's been through the same pain and can share war stories, will help to heal. Icarus flew too close to the sun. Stiles got too close to the supernatural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A new project. Warning, this will be sad, dark, and angsty. If that doesn't bother you, proceed.

The body fell onto the dry grassy plains with a thud. Blood pooled around it like a crimson lake. Stiles’ breath was caught in his throat, only coming out in gasps and moans. He didn’t have enough power to scream. No will to fight back. So, he froze. His converse clad feet stuck to the roots of the stump. His eyes focused only on the lifeless corpse of his father and not on the glowing red orbs of his assailant. The one stalking him like prey with a sinister smirk and the same shade of red from pool covering his mouth, his fangs, leeching onto his chin, and trailing down his neck. 

No, the frail teenage boy didn’t see that. He only saw the tan sheriff uniform stained with the color of the sweet wine his mother would drink on special occasions. He only saw the older man’s grey eyes covered in fear, not for his own life but for the son that was paralyzed. A son too traumatize to walk, to run, to fight. Too upset to scream. A son that was only going to endure the same fate as his father because that had to be better than being an orphan. Death was sweeter than losing everyone you loved. 

Stiles was paralyzed but Cora was not. Her thin body propelled through the air. Her futile attempt to attack the much stronger alpha just so she could scream “run” and snap the terrified boy from his trance long enough to realize that she was still with him. “God damn-it Stiles.” She swung her hand full of claws, scratching and flailing only to get thrown aside and land against the trunk of the tree. “Run you fucking idiot.” She yelled up to him spitting out her own version of crimson onto the ground. 

He moved. His lanky legs shaking, barely holding his weight. His arms scraping against a tree, fingers gripping onto the bark before collapsing against it. Tears burnt down his pale cheeks. Cries crawling out of him mouth like a howl in the wind. The harder his grip became on the tree the more red dripped down his dirty fingers an absorbed into the blue gingham shirt.

She found herself grateful, even in his wild manic state, that he sustained no injuries from the wolves that attacked them. She forced herself to be satisfied that the worst wound he had gotten was emotional, and though it would never heal, he wouldn’t die from it. She used him as a crutch. Her own cuts were visibly external and not healing as fast as she would have liked. She leaned against his sweaty, weak body, both of them limping in sync to paradise in the form of a rusted blue 1970’s jeep parked next to the highway.

He helped her into the passenger’s side. Falling against the door as he closed it. The pain ripped through him. It ravaged his spirit. It broke him down and then it made him crazy. All he had to do was solider on. Get his father to the Nematon, maybe, just maybe, the Celtic Gods that saved Julie Baccari or Jennifer Blake, or whatever the hell her name was, would save him. He deserved it. He was nothing but an innocent bystander. Maybe, he hoped, the Celtic Gods would take the rainstorm brewing in the grey of the sky and awake him from the nightmare. He would be safe and warm in his blanket with his father two doors down, sound asleep. 

But it didn’t. 

He fell into the mud less than twenty feet away from paradise, he curled into a ball and wept with the sky that drenched down upon him. 

She could only watch from the window. Her side bleeding out every time she moved. The pain too much for her to handle to make it to him. She was useless to him. All she could do was listen. Hone in on the sobs. The rapid heartbeat. The weak punches to the ground. His low voice mumbling, “it’s all my fault” over and over again until the sobs made it impossible to distinguish the words. 

She cried with him. Her tears only causing her more pain, making her wounds harder to heal. She was too weak to help him. Too weak to offer comfort. Too broken to hold him. And he need it. He needed a miracle. He needed hope.

He wanted a crash of lightning to come. Strike him down right where he laid and end his pain. It was too much to bear. Too heavy on his back to carry. Too exhausting to live through. 

So, he blacked out. In the mud. Twenty feet from the jeep he inherited from his father. His father who lied in a puddle of crimson and brown a mile through the forest. A forest filled with werewolves and other things that shouldn’t exist. 

He blacked out and he dreamt of drowning. Because it was peaceful. 

She dreamt of saving him. But she took two hours to heal and by the time she dragged him from the mud the police had shown up and help her carry him somewhere dry. They wrapped him in a towel and her in a blanket, placed his head on her lap, drove them to the station as he muttered “I’m sorry” repeatedly reliving the nightmare in his head.


	2. Night Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. I apologize for mistakes.

            Stiles’ screams happened the same moment the motel room’s air conditioner clicked on. The startling sound ripped Cora away from sleep. She turned over to the boy and watched as he convulsed and ripped at the sheets. Her hushes and tender touches weren’t working as of late but still she tried.  She would whisper his name and brush his hair back to soothe his dreams. “It’s okay,” she’d convince the slumbering boy. “Walk to the light and I’ll be there to help you. I’ll always be there.”

 

            Sometimes it would work and he’d relax and stay asleep. Sometimes it wouldn’t and he would be up all night on his computer, the light bright enough to keep his body from accidently slipping back into that place of horror. Bright enough to keep Cora awake as well, ~~worrying about him~~.

 

            It worked.

 

            His grip softened. His body relaxed and his mumbles turned to soft breaths.

 

            She placed her head on his chest. The pounding of his heart turned in to a low drum. She embraced him and even in his unconscious state he held her. She tried to focus on his heartbeat. The steady drumming should have helped will her back to sleep but his screams had sparked her adrenaline.

 

            So, she stayed there. She held onto him and let him sleep. She let him dream for her. Let him snore, let him push her off and grab her for comfort. She let him hold on to her like he would whenever he was afraid or worried. She let him be the “big spoon” if it meant the nightmares went away. She warded of the demons, the bad dreams, and the monsters under the bed for him.

 

She would always do that,

because he needed her to and she needed him.

 

|&|

 

She let him sleep in. He wasn’t much of a morning person and she wanted to shower with her own thoughts in the silence of their 3rd motel room this week.

 

Normally, they’d try and stay put for at least a week. They’d find a place to call home for seven days, even put a couple things in the closet to feel like they weren’t running away. The routine was six months old and the state border was crawling with people looking for two teenage runaways. So, they traded weeklong homes for a couple different a day.

 

The goal was Seattle. Neither of them knew why they chosen Seattle, but three months in they made the decision.  Cora believed it was because he liked the idea of a place gloomy but densely populated. Stiles believed it was because she wanted cool temperatures and enough forest for the full moons.

 

However, they were still in Oregon and days away from Washington. Today, they were in Oregon and Cora’s water temperature choices were Antarctica or Hell. She chose a little less Hell and hoped it wouldn’t burn her skin clean off. The steam filled the room before she could shed her clothes and even though it turned her skin red the heat was welcoming to her tired body.

 

It took lather, rinse, and repeat before the door clicked open. She heard a tired Stiles creep in. She waited a minute before, “g’morning” she said through the curtain.

 

He chuckled and turned the sink on. “g’morning” he mumbled with his toothbrush in his mouth.

 

“I didn’t wake you did I?” She asked with the bar of soap held tightly in her hand. He gave her a grunt and the sink turned on once again. “I’m going to take that as a no.”

 

“I got cold.” He answered. “I guess you did wake me up ‘cause you weren’t there.” It wasn’t accusatory, just sad. “We should get going soon.” He said in a hushed tone as he tapped on the countertop.

 

The steam sat in the small bathroom even after the water was off. The quiet familiarity between the two of them wiped out the awkwardness that would have happened months ago when she stepped out. He sat on the sink and handed her a towel. She wrapped it around her and walked toward him.

 

He kissed her lightly and placed his forehead on hers. “Thank you.”

 

“For showering?” She joked.

 

“I had another nightmare. I remember it but I didn’t wake up. Thank you.”

 

She pulled the hair tie from her wrist and pulled her wet hair in a bun. “You deserve a good nights sleep.”

 

“At the expense of yours.”

 

“I slept.”

 

He raised an eyebrow. “Cora,” then jumped from the counter and followed her out to their small room.

 

“Make some coffee will you?”  She shifted through her duffle bag haphazardly. “Next place we stay has to have laundry. I need clean clothes.”

 

“I have a couple shirts still that aren’t toxic, if you want.” She nodded and moved to his bag on the chair. The soft fabric smelled clean and like him. It was a soft smell that the longer they stayed together the more accustom to it she became; soon it’d be a background scent in the air.

 

She slipped on her boy shorts under her towel before she dropped it and pulled a bra from the back of the chair.

 

The coffee maker clicked and the smell danced through the room. Her sense went wild as they woke from their exhaustion. It was a sweet reminder of animal inside. It was the temptation of caffeine that excited her. The excitement of adventure was still in her blood. A place to call home was nice but once the adventure came she came alive. ~~It was part of why she agreed to run away with him.~~

 

The shirt was large on her. It was practically a dress. She looked down at it before slipping on her jeans then glanced over at Stiles. “You’re not much bigger than I am. Why is this a dress?”

 

“It was—my, my dad’s”

 

            Her face fell. “I’m sorry, I’ll—” she started pulling it up over her head.

 

            “No, it’s fine. It’s looks good on you.”

 

            He sat on the bed and let out a couple deep breaths. She could see the panic attack creeping up. It sat on his chest and made his breathing erratic. His heart raced so loud that she was sure her enhanced sense weren’t necessary to hear it.

           

She fell to her knees at the foot of the bed and held his hands in hers. “Don’t,” she said like she was an alpha _and not an omega_. “Don’t kick yourself again. It’s okay.”

 

            Half the time she didn’t know if it was the truth that she told him. Half the time it was sweet words that just worked. It just sounded good enough to make him stop crying, stop panicking. Sometimes they worked. Sometimes sweet words were the best thing for him.

 

            Today though,

            she’d only win one battle.

 

            His hands shook. Sweat trickled down his forehead and pooled on his flannel shirt. She held his hands tight.

 

            “We can stay, if only for the day. We don’t have to keep running. We can take a break.” She could hear it. Inside of him went crazy. His heart beat too fast. His lungs worked too hard. His teeth chattered. “We can rent a movie, get some pizza…Stiles please. Don’t leave me.”

 

            Cora Hale was strong. Sarcastic, vivacious, most importantly she was strong. Never would she have been seen as empathetic but when it came to the fragile human boy, ~~she blamed herself~~ she felt for him, felt his pain. 

 

            “We—” he took a couple deep breathes and tried to find his calm. “I’m fine.” She could hear the lie.

 

            “Stiles,” she warned trying to pull him back. “Everything will be okay.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW. I'm sorry. I haven't been inspired and life happened. I hate everything I write but I've decided this just needed to be posted. I hope you all enjoy it. Don't hate me. ALSO, I really fucking miss Cora Hale. It's not fair.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my new brain child. I wrote it at 4 am and just like my previous (and still ongoing fic Warpaint) I have no idea, minus the general, where this is going. It worked for me with Warpaint, so, I'm trying it with Icarus. It's going to be a lot different than Warpaint: darker, grim, but there's always hope. Updates, if you like it, will be sporadic and slower that WP. You've been warned. 
> 
> Tell me what you think in the comments or [here](). I look forward to hearing from you. :)


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